The fractures had names now.
They were no longer whispers, no longer questions asked in doorways or exchanged in coded glances across the training yards. They were people—wolves Aurelia knew, wolves who had bled beside her, who now stood in careful opposition because uncertainty had begun to look safer than faith.
By dawn, the pack had divided its work shifts without waiting for council instruction.
Two patrol routes.
Two chains of communication.
Two versions of obedience.
Aurelia watched it happen without interference.
To stop it would have required the one thing she had sworn away—force without consent.
Mira approached quietly from behind, her steps soft against the frost-dusted path.
"They're splitting," she said.
"I know."
"You're letting it happen."
"I am."
Mira exhaled. "You're not going to stop them?"
"I'm going to see who they become when no one tells them how."
"That's not leadership, Aurelia. That's surrender."
